


Ragtag Navy

by Zaxal



Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Dubiously Consensual Touching, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaxal/pseuds/Zaxal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one shots written for Psych Ship Week on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Indefinite Pause

**Author's Note:**

> **Table of Contents:**  
> 
> 1\. Indefinite Pause - Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer, _Carlton isn’t sure what a “day off” from a relationship means, but it can’t be a good thing._
> 
> 2\. Not By The Book - Pierre Despereaux/Carlton Lassiter, **Dubcon Touching** , _An arrest doesn’t go quite according to plan._
> 
> 3\. The Dangers of Being in Love - Gus/Shawn/Juliet/Carlton, _Shawn thought he knew the stakes, but when the three people closest to him are almost gone forever, he has to reevaluate what he thinks he knows._
> 
> 4\. Don't Let Go - Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer, _Shawn needs Carlton to wake up._
> 
> 5\. Insomniacs United - Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer, _Shawn can’t sleep, but luckily neither can Lassiter._
> 
> 6\. Facade - Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer, _Their relationship is changing, but if Carlton ignores it, maybe it won’t._
> 
> 7\. Happy Little Sun - Gus/Shawn/Juliet/Carlton, _Shawn’s smile could light up the world._

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
> 
> _Carlton isn’t sure what a “day off” from a relationship means, but it can’t be a good thing._

When Shawn said he needed a day off, Carlton wasn't sure what to expect. Every time he'd had conversations like those, it usually meant that he was too much, that his partner needed to get away before he drove them nuts. Lucinda, Victoria, older girlfriends – they all meant the same thing when they said they needed time away from him.

Shawn was an enigma, though, and their relationship didn't fall anywhere on Carlton's known spectrum, so he honestly was lost as to what he should think. Maybe Shawn was going to run, leave Carlton in the dust and hope that a day's head start would be enough deterrent that Carlton wouldn't follow him. Maybe he was looking for a way out and keeping Carlton away from him was the only way for him to think straight.

The worst idea that flitted through his head was Shawn had every intention of stringing him along, but he needed a day of consequence-free misadventures before he could continue putting up with Carlton for however long he intended this charade to continue.

He bit the inside of his lip and turned his eyes down towards his desk. He tried to concentrate on his reports while he waited impatiently for the toxicology labs for the victim in his newest case to get back, but his thoughts kept turning to Shawn. Even on their supposed "day off", Shawn kept his brain occupied, kept him guessing, kept him hooked, and Carlton wondered if it wouldn't be better to come to his senses.

This was some huge joke. He had known it from the beginning, but the sex was good, and any connection he could grab seemed to be good enough for him at the moment. Desperate, he thought, but he shook it away, forcing himself to focus. Agonizing wouldn't make it better. Shawn wanted a day off, then he could have it. And whatever consequences came from that... Well. Carlton was certain he'd dealt with worse.

\-----

It was easier said than done to forget, but slipping into the mindset of work always helped put his personal demons to rest for the time being. Maybe he was a little quick to pull his gun on what he thought was a perp, not an almost-victim, but it was really a mistake anyone could have made.

"Everything okay?" Juliet frowned at him as he led their real perp to the Crown Vic.

"It's fine," he said dismissively, pushing the guy's head so he wouldn't hit it as he got settled in the backseat. "We're fine."

"We?"

He grimaced, looking over the top of the car at her. "I'm fine, O'Hara."

She gave him a concerned look, but she didn't say anything once they got in the car. She knew Carlton so well by now – she had to have seen through his lie as easily as he did. He should be fine, really. It wasn't like he'd ever expected more when he and Shawn had begun seeing each other. If that was even an appropriate term for it. But the idea of their short fling ending like this made him clench his jaw, forcing those thoughts and frustrations down.

No matter what happened, he'd be fine. Shawn Spencer wouldn't ruin him. Carlton promised himself that. If he did it often enough, maybe it'd be true.

\-----

He had given up on counting the number of bullets he shot, the number of clips he discarded before loading a new one and letting the fire burn slowly through him, purging him of his thoughts until everything was the feel, the smell, the muffled sound of gunfire. Paying for new rounds would be cheaper than therapy in the long run, and he much preferred this to sitting in some shrink's chair talking about his feelings.

Not like he understood them anyway. He spent the day being mad at Shawn, mad at himself for being mad at Shawn, hating himself for letting Shawn get close enough to make him feel angrily at him, and then it all looped around to that damned almost-fondness that had led to him having a fake psychic in his bed, in most aspects of his life, buried so deeply in his head that he wasn't even surprised when his phone started going off and the ringtone was some bubbly pop song he'd caught Shawn singing several times in the last week.

He let it go to voicemail. They were taking a break. He didn't have to deal with this mess until tomorrow.

His phone rang a few more times, but he drowned the music with gunfire. By the time he pulled the protective goggles and earmuffs off, he had missed seven calls, and there was a single voicemail waiting for him. He put everything back where it belonged, and he'd made it all the way to his car before he caved and decided to listen to it.

Carlton watched the sunset as he leaned against his car, listening as Shawn's voice exploded into his ear. He winced and pulled the phone away, ashamed of the part of him that lifted once he heard Shawn. "Heya, Lassie. I'm guessing you're either busy working something big or trying to murder paper targets to curb your somewhat frighteningly insatiable bloodlust." Carlton found himself smiling in spite of himself, shaking his head. He shouldn't enjoy this, shouldn't encourage it, shouldn't want to be a part of it.

There was a brief pause, somewhat heavy with what Shawn wasn't saying that he needed to. Finally, it came out. "Listen, I know what happened earlier – I like freaked out and stuff, and I'm really sorry. If you wanna talk or if you just wanna hang out or... Or whatever, Lassie, I don't care. I just... I'm at my apartment. All right?"

Carlton sighed, debated silently if he wanted to do this today or not.

He still hadn't made his decision when he came to the road that would take him home, and he bypassed it to head towards Shawn's. He took a steadying breath and let himself drive, not thinking, just going.

He hadn't even made it a full day, and he already needed to see Shawn. How pathetic was that?

\-----

Shawn answered his door before Carlton had finished knocking, beaming brightly when he saw who it was. "Lass-" He shook his head briefly and looked briefly frustrated before his grin broke through again. "Carlton. Hi."

Carlton was startled by Shawn's easy use of his first name and by how unsure the other man seemed. He reached out to touch Shawn, wanting to soothe him, but he pulled his hand back quickly, leaving it at his side. No need to make this harder than it already was going to be. "You wanted to see me?"

Shawn barked out a surprised laugh that startled Carlton. He took a defensive step back, ready to leave if Shawn was just going to go straight into mocking him. Before he'd even shifted his weight to his back foot, Shawn's hands were gripping his shirt, holding him still. "Come on." He tugged him gently inside, closing the door behind him. Carlton thought he heard a lock turn over, but he knew Shawn was no threat to him even under normal conditions.

And seeing the state of Shawn's apartment, he could definitely say there were not normal conditions.

The few times they'd met up at Shawn's, the mess had been unbearable. Carlton had decided enough was enough after a rogue Lego tried to embed itself in his foot, but all of the garbage and toys and everything else had been cleaned up, put away, leaving the place looking much nicer in Carlton's opinion.

He raised an eyebrow when he looked at Shawn. Shawn laughed nervously. "I couldn't decide what to do with myself, so I cleaned."

"Couldn't decide?"

Shawn shook his head, "It's hard. All of this. I'm not... Look." He shook his head again like he was trying to push the right thoughts to the surface. He reached down and grabbed Carlton's hand with none of the hesitation Carlton himself felt. "Come on."

They stopped at the small kitchen which Shawn had confessed to barely using before. His hand on Carlton's tightened as he used his free one to gesture towards the small spread of food on the fold-out table that most people would use for the kiddie table at family gatherings. The chairs were just lawn chairs, worn from use, and there was a small vanilla-scented candle sitting in the middle of the table, flickering weakly over the two plates with food that looked less than appetizing.

In spite of all of that – or perhaps because of it – Carlton was touched that Shawn went through the trouble. And he wasn't trying to charm or distract Carlton from the obviously weak attempt at fulfilling every romantic cliché in hopes of... of what?

He looked at Shawn in the dim light and found himself being watched carefully with wide eyes. "What is this?"

"Dinner," Shawn answered, the 'duh' implied heavily by his tone.

"I hadn't guessed," he said in a flat tone, kicking himself as Shawn's eyes widened at his apparent disinterest. "Look. Shawn. I'm not..." He paused and took a deep breath. "I'm not gonna pretend I'm good at this. Cues and hints don't work."

"I know," Shawn said gently, his smile quirking up slightly at Carlton's half-hearted glare. "You like having things spelled out for you. I know."

"So?"

"So," Shawn shrugged and pulled away, leaning against the archway and crossing his arms somewhat defensively. "I don't know. I like you. And I freaked out about it because I'm not used to anything lasting this long." He peered up at Carlton, all of his masks and lies gone, burned away by the soft candlelight. "I want us to keep going. Whatever this is, however it is. If it's just sex, then fine, but if it's dinners and clean houses and watching movies together until we fall asleep and everything else... Or if it can be. I think I want those too. If you do."

"I don't know," Carlton answered, hating himself for the hurt look in Shawn's eyes and the way Shawn flinched away as he stepped closer. "I don't. But, god, Spencer. Shawn." He tried to smile, feeling like he was floating away or sinking to the bottom of the ocean or something else so extreme that it could only be caused by feeling so strongly about someone that it almost hurt. "We can try."

"If you want to," Shawn said, his arms unfolding and reaching out to settle against Carlton's chest. Carlton, beyond meaningful words, pulled him close and kissed him gently, wishing he knew how to go about this in a way that wasn't guaranteed to self destruct. 

He sighed and rested his forehead against Shawn's. "We're a disaster waiting to happen. You know that, right?"

"Psh," Shawn grinned. "Who's waiting?" He surged up and kissed Carlton again, slowly maneuvering them towards what was technically a candle-lit dinner. They settled in their respective seats, and Carlton was aware of a quiet inner voice saying that he was going to be in way over his head.

But even as he thought it, he couldn't stop himself from smiling. He wouldn't have it any other way.


	2. Not By The Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierre Despereaux/Carlton Lassiter
> 
>  
> 
> **Dubcon Touching**
> 
>  
> 
> _An arrest doesn’t go quite according to plan._

They'd barely put the car into park before he jumped out of it, slamming the door behind him as he darted towards the hotel. "Lassiter!" The voice cut through his determination, stilling his feet before he'd even made it more than four steps away from the car. "The others will be here soon. We need to wait."

Carlton knew a hundred reasons why Larson was wrong. He always had, counting infractions against the senior detective like he'd ever have the guts to say something about it. He shook his head, "He'll get away."

"No, he won't. Just give them time. He's not going anywhere"

"He's gotten away every single time." Carlton took an unsure step towards the building. "We need to go. Now."

Larson's expression remained calm. "If you go in there, you're going in alone. And I won't be held responsible for what happens to you."

Carlton reached for his gun, pulling it out of his holster without even the faintest hint of hesitation. Either he could wait, let Larson be wrong, and when they busted into the hotel room, it'd be completely empty. Or he could head up on his own, no backup, no support against someone who had been evading arrest like it was child's play.

The answer was simple. He had tracked Despereaux here. He had worked the case, chasing leads tirelessly even when they told him that a rookie detective wouldn't be able to do what no one else had been able to. He'd proved them wrong. This was his collar, and either he could let it slip through his fingers because he wasn't man enough to follow through or he could step up and prove that Fenich hadn't promoted him to detective too early.

He raised his chin and glared at Larson just long enough to let him know that he'd made his decision, and then he turned towards the stairs. He took them two at a time, climbing to the top floor of the cheap motel in long strides. Down the hall, he paused in front of the room that currently belonged to "Claudius Monet", another alias of Pierre Despereaux, infamous art thief who had made the grievous mistake of working out of Santa Barbara for the last week.

He shouted, "SBPD! Open up!" There was no response which was what Carlton had expected. However, he hadn't expected the door to be unlocked. Grinning at his luck, he threw open the door and barged into the room.

The window was open, curtains swaying in the breeze. Carlton noticed other details – the messy bed and the stray article of clothing that hadn't managed to be packed as Despereaux made his escape – but the window caught his attention. He bolted to it, looking out the window in hopes of making out which way he had run so that he could continue pursuing. There didn't seem to be an easy path down, and there was no one and nothing moving below to indicate that someone had been running some other way.

"Fuck," he swore quietly, pushing himself away from the window in frustration. Maybe Larson had been useful for once and seen something. Carlton could hope.

He'd almost turned around when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. Carlton closed his eyes in frustration, hating that he'd been so eager that he hadn't even thought to look behind him. "Hands up," said the strange voice, sounding conversational as opposed to threatening. Carlton clenched his teeth together. "Up," he said again, insistent this time, ordering. "Where I can see them."

When he hesitated a second time, he felt the muzzle of a gun tracing coldly up the back of his neck. Carlton suppressed a shudder, but his shoulders lifted anyway, defensively trying to block the muzzle of the gun. "I won't ask a third time." Carlton reluctantly pulled his hands up, unsurprised when Despereaux grabbed his gun, pulling it easily out of his fingers, leaving him defenseless. "There we go. Now tell me, how long until backup gets here?"

Carlton pressed his lips together, determined not to say anything. Despereaux sighed, and Carlton barely had time to brace himself before there were fingers raking into his hair, curling and yanking his head back to a painful angle as one of the guns drove itself into his neck. Carlton couldn't bite back the pained groan even though he tried. "How long?" Despereaux murmured.

Carlton tried to push it down, but his heart was racing, his mind only supplying the panicked information that there was a gun and that he had no defense. And that Larson really would wipe his hands clean if Carlton died or got himself horribly injured because he hadn't waited for backup. Carlton could work with this. He could still win, but, for now, he needed to cooperate. "Thirty minutes. At best."

Immediately, his grip loosened. He pulled the gun away, moving it so that he could stroke the muzzle gently down Carlton's neck. "Good. Very good." Carlton stiffened and tried to turn, but Despereaux's hand in his hair tightened, keeping him in place. "Not yet. You have handcuffs, correct?" Carlton nodded as best he could. "Excellent. Which pocket?"

"Back left."

Carlton waited for him to let go and give him a chance to wiggle to freedom, but Despereaux steered him into the wall, pressing him against it and making it abundantly clear that he wasn't meant to move by pressing the gun against his back. Carlton growled quietly and waited as Despereaux felt outside of the pocket first to make sure he was telling the truth before fishing the handcuffs out.

"Hands behind your back." Carlton didn't move fast enough, and he soon found his body blanketed by a larger one as Despereaux reached for his arm, wrenching it back behind him. "You must be fairly new or somewhat brave. Dangerous traits to have if you want to survive." He felt the handcuffs close tightly around his wrist the same time as he felt a rush of air across his neck. "The one can be fixed, but the second?"

His other arm was pulled back and cuffed. Carlton pressed his forehead against the wallpaper, trying to push back against Despereaux who only laughed. His hand spread out between Carlton's shoulders, pushing him against the wall. "I don't recommend bravery. It doesn't end well for you."

"Want to add threatening an officer of the law to your list of offenses?" He managed to growl out from between gritted teeth.

"Not a threat. More of an omen, I should think." Carlton said nothing, and Despereaux laughed softly. The moment he took a step away, Carlton turned, glaring at the stranger he knew only by name. His hands slid down, reaching, but Despereaux held up the key with a stern expression that softened in amusement. "Did you really think I wouldn't take it?"

Before Carlton could respond, Despereaux turned, flicking the key out the open window. "That's that."

"Are you going to kill me?"

Despereaux paused and looked at him, surprised. "No. Of course not. I never kill. Not that I've been driven into a corner before, but we shall see." He picked up Carlton's gun from where he'd sat it on the bed. "New. Same for the suit. Same for you, I'm assuming?"

Carlton didn't respond. He lifted his chin, stepping slightly away from the wall and trying to seem in control. Despereaux clicked his tongue and put Carlton's gun down again. "You should be proud, detective." He sauntered close to Carlton, running his free hand up his jaw in a way that was too familiar, intimate, and Carlton tried to draw away. But Despereaux stepped close to him, pressing him against the wall again, crowding his space. "Had your reinforcements been any good, you might've beaten me. You've come the closest, you know."

Carlton snarled, "Get off of me."

"No. I don't think I will." Despereaux grinned, his eyes twinkling deviously. He bent his head leaning forward to murmur warmly in Carlton's ear, "You are exceedingly out of your depth. I give you my most sincere congratulations for making it this far, but I'm afraid you've lost."

"Backup is on the way."

"And by the time they get here, I'll be long gone. But seeing as I have time to spare..." Carlton shivered as he felt the scrape of teeth along his neck, trying to shrink away from the touch even though he couldn't. Hands untucked his shirt and found their way against his skin. One ran up his stomach and raked blunt nails back down, creating trails of warmth in their wake. Despereaux's mouth was warm, too, sucking, biting, licking at the chosen spot on his neck. Carlton closed his eyes, trying to push down the sudden arousal clouding his head, all of the sensations sending blood racing south. Making him hard.

Carlton gasped at the feeling of chilly metal against his skin, his eyes flying wide as his body arched off the wall. The cold muzzle of the gun touched his side, tracing over the bumps of his ribs, touching his hip, and Carlton fought not to whimper as it – all of it – drew away.

Despereaux didn't say anything – his smirk said it all along with the somewhat subtle attempt to look at the bulge in Carlton's slacks. Despereaux fished his luggage out of the closet and smiled at Carlton, showing too many teeth as he sauntered towards the window. "You should have around ten minutes, I should think. And, detective," he met Carlton's eyes, equal parts sincere and mocking, "thank you for the wonderful time."

"Go to hell," Carlton snarled at him, but Despereaux only smirked as he vanished out of the window. Carlton leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to get his body to settle down. By the time he got to the window, Despereaux was gone.

Larson and backup arrived not long after, finding Carlton struggling with the handcuffs. They barely made an attempt to hide their amusement and contempt of him, but at the end of the day, Carlton still had his badge, and Larson was being berated by Chief Fenich for allowing his junior partner to rush into danger without support.

He rubbed at the lingering marks on his wrists and reread his statement, searing the lie into his mind as he tried to forget about what had happened. Even as he handed it over to Fenich, he knew he wouldn't.

And no matter what he told himself, there was a tiny part of him that didn't want to.


	3. The Dangers of Being in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gus/Shawn/Juliet/Carlton
> 
>  
> 
> _Shawn thought he knew the stakes, but when the three people closest to him are almost gone forever, he has to reevaluate what he thinks he knows._

He thought he knew all of the dangers going into this. He had cataloged them in his head over and over again, trying to remind himself that this was possibly the worst idea he had ever had. Gus couldn't handle thinking that he was second best. Juliet wouldn't forgive him for lying to her, leading her on. Carlton wouldn't like that either, but he'd think of it as a personal failing instead of blaming Shawn when, really, all three of them should have known from the start that all of their problems were Shawn's fault.

He had been prepared for the eventuality that they would find out. He was a good liar, but the larger a lie got, the harder it became to keep up, and this lie had almost consumed his entire life. It was bigger than the psychic lie, bigger even than the lie that Shawn was in control, unaffected by the world around him, carefree and fun and never ever thinking of the consequences.

Shawn thought about the consequences a lot, but there were some things that made it worth it. 

Like the way he and Carlton could go from genuine frustration with each other one moment, but then that fire warmed and there was genuine fondness beneath the rage that Shawn kindled. Knowing that Carlton could hate him and like him – love him, maybe – was worth it. 

Or like long days spent with Juliet, dating like he never had with anyone else. Stolen moments of happiness and laughter amidst everything else, and it wasn't that he forgot about the other two but that she filled a gap that they couldn't. Because Juliet could love him for him, for the mask he put up to hide away from everything. She could accept him at his most serious and at his most irreverent in equal strides, and knowing that was worth it.

It was worth it, too, knowing that there was someone who could see through it all. Who could rip through his walls and defenses until he was looking at the bare essence of Shawn and then never blink, never turn away, never leave no matter what he did to deserve it. Gus loved him like no one he'd ever known, had taken everything Shawn had asked of him and given him a strong foundation in return. A place to come back to, someone to call home no matter what happened.

The worst part of it was knowing that even though they loved him, they could never forgive him and when it all fell – and it would because Shawn might have his magic charms but the three of them had always seen through his flash and dazzle right to his core – he'd be left on his own.

He thought he had known every danger there was, every way he could be hurt, but he was so very wrong, and Shawn knew it now, could feel it spreading like winter through his heart, freezing his lungs, fear and need so strong that he couldn't think even though he needed to.

Because if he didn't think of a solution quickly, they were going to die.

He could see the three of them on the dirty monitors set up in the warehouse, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked helplessly from one to the next. Forcing them to relive their worst nightmares to make Shawn suffer made something in him burn, rage and fury demanding that he save them, get them safe, do whatever he had to. But at the same time as he saw red, he felt helplessly lost, seeing their panic, their fear and it was all because of him. 

Juliet was tied on something high, and Shawn could see over the edge, could see the far plummet like that clocktower. Her body was stiff in the ropes, her hands curled around what she was anchored to, but if the ropes broke, there'd be nothing she could do. And she kept being pushed farther and farther out from safety.

Carlton was trapped in a small space, flames licking at him from a distance. Hot flecks of ash and sparks darted near him, occasionally landing on him, making him jump and turn, constantly making sure they weren't getting closer. From Shawn's point of view, he could see that they were.

Gus was trapped in an even smaller space, but Shawn wasn't allowed to see his face. All he could see was the dirt pouring slowly over the coffin, drifting down like some terrible hourglass, covering it.

"Tick tock, Mr. Spencer."

And when had his life turned into a terrible Batman movie? He wasn't a hero, not at all, so why was it that he had people targeting him and the people he- he cared about so very much? He didn't understand. Supervillains were supposed to be a joke, a fairy tale, so definitely not real, and even if they weren't, he so wasn't a hero.

A hero didn't cheat on their love interest. Much less three times over.

A hero didn't panic when he saw them dying, their worst fears turned against them, but all he could do was stand there, frozen and not knowing anything except that he had to save them. Somehow.

The most dangerous thing of all, Shawn decided, was realizing that the worst thing wasn't that they could find out, that he'd be left alone without a one of them loving him in their own way but that they could die and he'd never had the guts to tell any of them how much he loved them back. That could make a man do crazy, dangerous things.

He forced himself to smile, walking closer to the maniac with the control – Roger Hudson, a narcissist genius who had one fatal flaw so far as Shawn knew, and wasn't that always the case? "This is really something, you know? Like, I thought Yin and Yang were elaborate, but you went all out. Good job, buddy."

He saw the flicker of distrust in Hudson's eyes, but there was something else too. The pride Shawn was counting on – maybe he couldn't be the smartest person in Santa Barbara, but the best villain? That might be worth something to him, so Shawn dangled it in front of him. "And they had so much more time to prepare, too. Years, Yang knew me, and they had practice killing people before that. This is your first time, right?"

Hudson's expression lightened, his body relaxing as he treated the remote like it didn't have three people's lives hanging in the balance, twisting it in his hands, tossing it from one to the other. Gullibility, Shawn thought with a sincere smile. No one was immune from it.

He allowed himself one last look at the monitors. They were still safe as they could be. But if he was going to act, he had to do it quickly. He met Hudson's eyes, relying on his disarming, easy smile that had gotten him everything time and again from anyone he'd challenged with it.

The rest was more like a blur, sharpened moments standing out like his body colliding with Hudson's, hands turned to fists and training he'd never taken seriously telling him exactly what he needed to do even as his muscles screamed from their inability to handle the strain for long. They tumbled. The remote skidded away. Blows were exchanged, and Shawn saw fear in that previously cocky expression, cold fear because Shawn was smart and was supposed to settle everything with his brain, be willing to play Hudson's game and not pin him to the floor using his weight and his hands clenching tightly around Hudson's throat.

Recognition finally dawned in Hudson's face just before he blacked out. Recognition that Shawn was dangerous, that he would do anything it took to win because he had everything to lose. Shawn was off the unconscious man in an instant, scrambling for the remote and quickly pressing the opposite of every button he'd seen Hudson touch. A quick look at the monitors revealed that Juliet was being pulled back, that the flames had dwindled in Carlton's cage, and that the dirt had stopped pouring over Gus's coffin.

As Hudson began to stir, Shawn tied his hands up with some rope he'd seen sitting by the monitors. It was a perfect match to the rope holding Juliet in her precarious position, thick enough and sturdy and, with the right knots, impossible to get out of.

Shawn smiled exactly the same he had before once he was sure he had Hudson's full attention. "Where are they?" Hudson bit down on his tongue or his cheek, glaring daggers at Shawn whose smile widened. "Are you sure you wanna play this game with me, Roger?" He knelt down in front of his prisoner, head tilted slightly to the side. "'Cause I'll win. One way or another."

\-----

Less than an hour later, and Shawn was sliding down into the dirt hole, not caring about his sneakers or his jeans as he flung the dirt off with his hands, too impatient for shovels even as uniformed officers interfered to do the job they'd been sent to do. The moment he could, Shawn pulled the coffin open, panicking the moment he saw Gus's face – eyes closed, mouth open, either dead or asleep and Shawn couldn't stop himself from pulling him up into a hug, almost crying when he felt the warmth from Gus's body, the steady, slow thump of his heartbeat.

"You better not be hugging be with dirt all over your hands," Gus murmured finally, his voice slurring from the drugged sleep he'd just come out of.

Shawn hugged him tighter, desperately. "I'm never gonna stop hugging you."

"You will," Gus said, sounding certain and sure and so very safe and alive that Shawn wanted to cry. "You hate coming with me on my route."

Shawn laughed, burying his head against Gus's neck as laughter died away into either giggles or quiet sobs, and he couldn't be sure of which. Gus's arms came up to weakly hold him back, his hand stroking softly through Shawn's hair as he said, "I know, Shawn. I know."

\-----

They were safe. It didn't matter how often he heard it because he never believed it was true. They were _safe_ , but he was pacing restlessly, trying to ignore the small bandages on Carlton's face and hands hiding the burns and on Gus's knuckles which were bleeding from where he'd punched at the coffin's lid before succumbing to the drugs and the rope burns on Juliet's neck and wrists. The more he tried, the more he remembered, and he felt helpless and scared and overwhelmed, and what was he supposed to do.

He was making his fourth sweep around the room when something changed. Shawn didn't see it – silent glances, nods, words mouthed as an agreement was reached. But he knew shortly thereafter. Arms went around him, holding him close, and Shawn had been desperate to cling to all of them even knowing that he couldn't. He couldn't resist it anymore, trembling as he clung to Carlton, shaking with the overload of everything. "Spencer," he said firmly, the familiar hint of agitation in his voice, "calm down."

"You could have died," he murmured. "All of you gone, and I- I never..."

"We know," Juliet said, too close to them, and Shawn was startled when he felt her arms go around his waist. "It wasn't your fault, Shawn. You saved us."

"Shouldn't need saving," he growled, nearly jumping when Gus's hand settled on his neck, firm and grounding and bringing Shawn back to earth. Shawn was suddenly aware of the three of them crowding around him, holding him like there was nothing odd about it at all. He wriggled out of their grip and stumbled back, looking at them with wide eyes.

He expected them to be angry or frustrated or at the very least fed up and done. Slamming doors and leaving him in the dark, alone forever. Instead, they seemed curious, shaken, yes, but acting like he was the one being weird and not all three of them.

Shawn searched for words that he couldn't find, and he said, "I'm sorry," even knowing that it came nowhere close to the apology he owed them.

They exchanged glances, and Shawn knew them well enough to read them all. Carlton's was annoyed, clearly thinking that Shawn should be on the same page. Juliet elbowed him gently, smiling tentatively until the corner of Carlton's mouth tilted upwards. Gus smiled and nodded when they turned their heads to him, in total agreement with the other two. He extended a fist, and the other two bumped theirs into his without so much as a question.

When they finally looked at him again, Shawn was lost.

Juliet was the one to break the silence, laughing at Shawn's confused expression. "Did you think we didn't know? Carlton and I are detectives, and Gus is your best friend. He knows you better than anyone else." She held out a hand to him, and he took it instinctively, still broken from the day behind him and needing them – all of them – to help put him together again.

"How long?" He asked, his voice weak as Gus slid his hand into Shawn's other. 

Carlton was content not to touch, his hands resting on his hips as he watched them. He shrugged with an amused smile, "About a month after it started. If that."

"We never really talked about it," Gus said. "Didn't need to. Guess we have to now."

"Do we?" Shawn whined, smiling brightly when the other three laughed in their own way. "I can think of better ways to pass the time," he said in a low voice with an exaggerated eyebrow waggle that earned him various looks of exasperation and adoration that passed each of the three familiar faces.

"I'm sure you can," Carlton said sternly, stepping forward and cupping Shawn's face, drawing him up to meet his eyes with no escape. Gus and Juliet held him still, their grips supportive but restraining. Refusing to let him run. "But let me make one thing clear before this goes anywhere else."

"Us," Juliet chimed in.

"Us," Gus agreed.

"Us," Carlton corrected himself. "There's only us. I can accept Guster and O'Hara. I did a long time ago, and they did the same. But if you go chasing after someone else, or if you try to make us fight over you or each other, this is over."

"Done this before, Lassie?"

"No," Carlton said, leaning closer until his lips were almost brushing over Shawn's. "But I believe in structure, Spencer."

"So this... this is okay?" He asked, turning his head enough to get a good look at all of them, surprised still to find warmth and affection and love all around him. In spite of him. Because of him.

Gus said, "More than."

Juliet agreed, "So much better than 'okay'."

Carlton only nodded when Shawn looked back at him, and Shawn felt something inside of him break at the realization again of everything he could have lost. He leaned forward to press his head against Carlton's shoulder, pulling Gus and Juliet until they were pressed against him on either side. His arms went around them, and theirs around his, and he finally let himself break down while being held by the three people he loved most in the world.

"I love you," Shawn murmured to each, hearing the differences and wondering if they did. If they could hear the soft affection when he said it to Juliet versus the almost-challenge and desperation for it to be returned when he said it to Carlton or the safe knowledge that he was loved and would always somehow be loved when he said it to Gus.

They said it back, he was sure, even though he was beyond being able to hear, and he thought that maybe knowing that he loved them and they loved him back might be the most dangerous and scary and the best, most amazing thing of all.


	4. Don't Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
> 
> _Shawn needs Carlton to wake up._

He's sitting just next to him, holding a cold hand between his warming it as best he can. The bed is white and crisp, sterile like the rest of the room which means Shawn doesn't have a lot to distract him from the pale, relaxed expression or the bandages wrapped around his head (and his stomach and his leg – Shawn hasn't seen them, but he knows they're there just like he knows exactly where the bullets went [through his left leg and below his chest somehow missing the lungs which Shawn knows is the most important thing which is why he doesn't know what they actually hit because he'd been so relieved]).

There are tubes and machines and Shawn could probably remember what all of them are doing to keep Carlton alive, but he's locked those memories away for now. The details would be too overwhelming, and even if he knew, it's not like he'd be able to do anything about it. It's better not to know and have hope than to know and be helpless against facts and reality.

His dad would normally disapprove of that, but Henry's being relatively docile, sitting nearby with his reading glasses on while he reads some magazine he brought with him. It's too tame, but Shawn knows his real reason for being here, and they're currently sitting on the other side of the room.

Lauren Lassiter isn't the one he has to look out for. She'd walked into the hospital room, distressed, in tears, and her eyes had slid from her older brother's face to the hand Shawn was holding between his. It seemed to make her feel more peaceful – Shawn doesn't know if it's out of happiness for Carlton or if she thinks he's like one of those cats that lives in nursing homes that can correctly predict when someone is going to die (and right now Shawn would give anything to have that superpower, but he'd give everything to never have to know that Carlton isn't waking up). 

Mother Lassiter, though, had followed in her daughter's footsteps, not too far behind but enough to make Shawn want to keep Carlton close. He had honestly expected the devoutly Catholic woman to have her misgivings about Carlton's relationship with another man, but instead she had zeroed in on him, sneering in disapproval as she reached up to touch the cross at her neck.

Henry had read that as easily as Shawn did – psychic powers meant devilry or witchcraft and it didn't take long for her to demand that Shawn leave for corrupting her boy. Probably trying to send him to hell. Shawn isn't sure that he believes in a heaven or a hell (or if he does, he's convinced that hell is sitting by the bedside of someone you love and waiting for their eyes to open or their heart monitor to stop and never knowing which one's going to come), but the idea she put in his head was almost enough to make him give up.

That's where Henry had stepped in, protective with barely concealed rage as he explained to the nurses that Shawn needed to be there for Carlton.

By the time the dust settled, their truce was a tentative one. Carlton's family would still have dibs. Shawn was barely a boyfriend so far as most people knew, so if they caused trouble, Shawn and Henry would have to be the ones to leave. But every time Mother Lassiter begins to say something scathing, Lauren puts a hand on her arm and Henry glares daggers.

The silence in the room is oppressive, broken up by Carlton's steady heartbeat, and every now and then Lauren speaks quietly to her mother. Shawn doesn't listen to them, doesn't care what they're saying. Everything except Carlton feels so far away, and even though Carlton is close, there's no telling when he'll wake up.

Reality is a distant memory with cases and psychic visions and guns and heads cracking hard against concrete and him holding Carlton while Juliet and their backup save all of their asses. He isn't sure he can go back to it, and so he's locked those away as best he can, too. He thinks he can, but only if Carlton wakes up.

Shawn can't help but wonder what happens if he doesn't. If he's gone forever. He wonders if he's able to lock away their first date, the feeling of Carlton's hand holding his, their tender and angry kisses, if he can make himself forget all of the little things like Carlton chewing gum during that first interrogation or humming danger music or smiling so serenely when he tends to his guns before he hides them all over the house again.

Shawn wants to. He needs to, because if he can't and all of that is gone, then he doesn't know what he's going to do with himself. But if he can, it'll be like killing part of himself, and he sees that trajectory clearly even though he doesn't want to – he'll lock himself away, put everything that makes him Shawn Spencer behind the best door he can make and let himself self-destruct knowing that he's completely hollow and empty and that nothing else matters.

He blinks and realizes that hours have somehow passed and that his eyes hurt and there are tears still wet on his cheeks. The sun is slanting bright orange and yellow through the blinds. Lauren and her mom are gone, and Henry's hand touches Shawn's shoulder. "Get some sleep tonight, kid."

"Will do," he promises emptily, and for once, Henry lets him get away with lying.

Carlton's expression hasn't changed much in the time Shawn's been zoned out, and so far as he can tell, there isn't anything different about the meds or the machine setup either. He settles in for the night, lacing his fingers with Carlton's as he leans back in the uncomfortable recliner that he scooted up next to the bed. "It's just me and you, Lassie."

After a few minutes, he has to ask. "Carlton?" No answer. He's right there, but he's not, so close and so far and every other stupid cliché that Shawn suddenly hates so violently because they were never supposed to be true. "You promise you won't leave?"

Carlton's heartbeat holds steady. There's no other answer.


	5. Insomniacs United

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
> 
>  
> 
> _Shawn can’t sleep, but luckily neither can Lassiter._

Images flash like a storm, whipping around like a whirlwind, a tornado, all of the things he knows mixing with the things he doesn't. The unknown is frightening, the elements tainting knowledge and truth so that his eyes fly open, staring blankly up at the dark ceiling, and he's reaching for the lamp at his bedside before he can convince himself that he's being childish. He's too old to be having nightmares. Henry had told him so when he was thirteen. Shawn himself isn't so sure. There's no such thing as the bogeyman, and the monsters under his bed or in his closet aren't waiting to reach out, grab him, and drag him under. Shawn knows that, but there are nightmares that are real like maniacs with guns or bombs or drugs and access to the people he cares most about.

Shawn can't rest. He tries, but every time he closes his eyes, there's some new threat there. Something he needs to analyze and see, but this time, he can't. That's the worst feeling of all. Helpless isn't a feeling Shawn is used to. He maintains careful control over the chaos of his life, and he'd prefer to keep it that way, to be perfectly honest. Those moments where he can't do anything, frozen in time and seeing details that mean nothing -- they drive him crazy. He can run over them again and again, and in the real world, that works. That saves people.

In his dreams and nightmares, it does nothing except remind him of how useless and helpless he is.

He picks up his phone off the end table near his bed. Shawn punches in the first number on his speed dial, closing his eyes in frustration when it goes straight to Gus's voicemail. It doesn't take him long to remember the previous evening when Gus told him that he had plans. Going on a date with their latest client, a charming, beautiful woman that Shawn felt himself begrudgingly approving of.

He goes to punch in another number, but the idea of waking anyone else up makes him feel selfish and needy. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't make himself go to sleep. Shawn sighs and resigns himself to the waking world. A cup of coffee brings him slowly to being fully awake, and it's only then that he grabs his helmet and heads out to his bike.

When he reaches his destination, he has to pause, looking at the other figure sitting on the bench on the beach Shawn was going to take for himself. The shadow seems familiar in the dim pre-dawn light. Shawn tentatively approaches, leaving his bike and helmet behind. He wants to say something, but Lassiter's eyes are turned out over the ocean, watching the waves lap against the sand, soothing as they repeat. Proof of the order of the world, which Shawn supposes is why they're both here.

"Hey," he says as he sits on the bench next to Lassiter. Lassiter grunts but doesn't bother responding. He won't willingly say that Shawn's welcome to stay, but the lack of any protest speaks louder for him. "Couldn't sleep."

"Me either," Lassiter says after a few moments. "Thought I'd come sit until the sun came up."

Shawn nods. They slip into a somewhat companionable silence. Shawn closes his eyes and feels the chilled night breeze rush through his hair, carrying the smell of salt water and early morning and wrapping him in it. He likes this for some reason. There aren't many people he can stand being this quiet with. Silence isn't the worst thing, but he gets the feeling that not saying anything sometimes says so much more than anyone could ever expect him to be comfortable with.

Lassiter, though, doesn't expect him to explain, will never ask him why he woke up so early. Insomnia is a shared enemy. The same as any criminal they fight together, and at the end of the day, Lassiter accepts that explaining himself to Shawn will be as fruitless as demanding an explanation.

They're facing the wrong way to see the sun rise, but Shawn sees the sky turning into a smoky gray. There's light behind him, colors and splendor, but Shawn turns his head just enough to see Lassiter's expression, somewhat peaceful and serene, eyes closed as he listens to the wind and the water.

"Lassie?"

Lassiter frowns, eyebrows lowering as his eyes blink open, pale even in the low light. He turns to look at Shawn. "What?"

Shawn doesn't know what possesses him to do it, but he asks, "How often do you come out here?"

Lassiter looks at him, eyes narrowed and frowning like he's trying to figure out what angle Shawn is getting at. "Every now and again."

Shawn nods and looks out at the ocean, watching the waves and wishing they'd come pick him up and carry him away, out to open waters where he could float forever, doing nothing except watching the sun rise and set as the waters carry him on. The thought lulls him, and Shawn's spent enough time on boats that he can remember the swaying of the ocean, can feel it even when he's sitting still.

He blinks rapidly several times and tries to raise his head, but his eyelids finally feel heavy and there's no threat in the back of his head telling him that the nightmares are waiting for him to let his guard down so they can swallow him up again. If they try, Shawn thinks they'll be in trouble because Lassiter's just on the other side of the bench and he's enjoying the peace too much to let Shawn's bad dreams wreck it for him this early.

"Tired, Spencer?" Lassiter's voice is surprisingly gentle.

"Mhm," he hums lazily. He tucks his chin against his chest. It's awkward, and his neck's going to hurt like hell when he wakes up, but if he can grab even ten minutes of sleep, he thinks he'll feel so much better.

He leans forward as he drifts off, and he thinks that he's going to fall off the bench and onto the sand until an arm reaches up and grabs his shoulders. Shawn immediately pushes himself closer, noting how much more comfortable it is when his head's pillowed on someone else's shoulder.

"Don't drool on me," Lassiter warns. Shawn tries to answer, but it comes out as a yawn, and by the time it's ended, he's settled close and drifting off with the tide.

When he wakes up, the sky's starting to turn blue. Lassiter's eyes are closed, his breathing deep as he rests his head against Shawn's. When he breathes in, it catches in his throat, the quietest snore, and Shawn can't help his fond smile as he waits just a little while longer before waking Lassiter up.


	6. Facade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
> 
> _Their relationship is changing, but if Carlton ignores it, maybe it won’t._

Carlton goes through the motions. He protests when Karen insists on bringing them in. He glares when Shawn bounces through the lobby, Gus hot on his heels. He doesn't smile, doesn't laugh, pushes them away. Towards Juliet or preferably out of his station, but the latter's not going to happen anytime soon.

The longer it goes on, he's not sure he wants it to.

There are moments when they slip, when the carefully constructed wall of ice cracks. There's a spark, recognition, the tilt of a smirk. Too knowing, and if they aren't careful, someone else is going to notice. But they're safe for now, so he indulges himself, allows those weak moments.

The problem is that Shawn doesn't realize when enough is enough. He pushes a little harder than he should, slipping from subtle to too much in a spectacular fuck up that has Carlton seeing red. He wants to quit. He wants to prove to Shawn that he's calling the shots. He wants to do something, anything that keeps anyone else from seeing.

He's not sure why, exactly. He's not ashamed of what he and Shawn have. He's not worried about what the others will think. It might affect his career, but there are moments when that seems worth it. But at the end of the day, he doesn't want anyone else to know because it feels like they shouldn't. Like them knowing would make it somehow real, pushing it from the flickering shadows of possibility into the harsh light of reality.

In the middle of a vision, Shawn's hand grasps his jaw, one of his knees raising up and planting itself on the wall next to him, bringing their hips into line. His eyes spark, all of that mischief that Carlton despises and adores. He meets Shawn's gaze evenly, his expression blank. Shawn pulls away a second later to continue with his alleged message from the spirits.

Carlton has his own message to send, though he's not sure why. It's not like Shawn's acting differently than before, but Carlton's rules have changed. It's part of the facade, the lie he tells himself that this means nothing, that Shawn doesn't have the right to touch him. But he touches Shawn without a moment of hesitation.

He grabs the badge clipped to Shawn's waist, fully aware of what else he's almost touching, practically leading him around by it as he pulls him down a quiet corridor. He pushes Shawn against the wall, growling incoherent rage that Shawn understands, grinning widely. He opens his mouth to say something, but Carlton doesn't let him.

Shawn is the tease. Carlton doesn't bother. He makes promises instead. Wordless, yes, but Shawn understands. The tongue in his mouth and the grip Carlton has on his hair are pretty clear in their intent. Shawn claws at shirt, scraping as he looks for purchase, pushing his body up against Carlton's.

Carlton pulls himself away, leaving Shawn looking bewildered like he hadn't expected Carlton to stop. Carlton raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, waiting expectantly for Shawn's retaliation. Shawn's sharp, quick, and even Carlton committing the cardinal sin of touching him at work isn't enough to throw him off-balance for long.

Carlton should stop him. Should push him away, but no matter the lies he tells himself, he doesn't want to. With a swing in his hips, Shawn steps closer, his face tilted up, lips parted. His hands hover just over Carlton's body, forcing him to make the decision.

He tells himself to stop. That this doesn't work. That they aren't whatever this is in the daylight, but Shawn's lips shape the word 'please', and he can't help himself. That's normal, he tells himself, lies, presses forward to kiss, control, own, and for the moment, nothing else matters.

When it's over, both of them still aroused and frustrated because neither of them will drag this game into deeper territory here, Carlton shoves him against the wall again. "Don't," he warns them both too late.

When they emerge from the hallway, they go through the motions. Shawn leads, Carlton chases, and they're both aware of those moments when their eyes meet and the wall of ice cracks more under the pressure.


	7. Happy Little Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gus/Shawn/Juliet/Carlton
> 
> _Shawn’s smile could light up the world._

Happiness is the three of them. It's Gus's agitation melting into a familiar smile, Carlton's sneers that soften at the edges, and Juliet's fond exasperation. It's Juliet wanting someone to hold her, so she sits next to one of them, scooting closer during the moments when they're caught up with whatever they're watching until it's natural for them to put their arm around her. It's Carlton having trouble sleeping so he crawls into bed with someone else, demanding attention without having to say a thing. It's Gus having a frustrated day at the office so he comes to someone else to work out his frustrations in the most constructive, fun way possible.

Those little moments, those habits have grown out of years spent together as coworkers, friends, growing closer until they were a collective of something more. Shawn knows them by heart, can read everything with ease.

He'd stay on the sidelines if they'd let him. He's a fuck up. He's the wrench in the gears, ruining the solid, constant clockwork with his inability to be a stable anything. 

But luckily, they don't. They know him just as well, know that he needs to help and needs help himself. They know when he needs to be held, when he needs someone to stand up to him, when he needs someone to catch him before he falls farther than he has before. He feels like if he smiles any more that his face is going to break open and he's going to become pure sunlight, burning the world with the intensity of his joy.

He supposes it's not the worst way to go as the four of them tumble into the largest bed in the house, getting comfortable, his head in Juliet's lap, Gus's resting on his stomach, and Carlton curled up, his back pressed against the headboard, his head resting close to Juliet's. Shawn smiles and falls asleep surrounded by the people he loves most in the world, totally, completely happy.


End file.
